


I'm Gonna Be Free and I'm Gonna Be Fine

by TransScribe



Series: Give it All Series [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25500637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TransScribe/pseuds/TransScribe
Summary: An epilogue.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Give it All Series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1847371
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	I'm Gonna Be Free and I'm Gonna Be Fine

**Author's Note:**

> I said I would write this and I did, finally. It's not long but I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Title from 'Delilah' by Florence + the Machine because I love a good theme.

Aziraphale breathed deeply as he surfaced from his dream. He was sleep-hazy, and something was weighing him down. Something almost physical. He breathed in again, and the weight shifted with it, but remained. He tried to move as the world around him became clearer and the haze slipped away.

There was a sound. 

He opened his eyes, blinking away the just-woke-up blur to his vision, looked downwards and— 

A surprised laugh burst out of him. Not _almost_ physical, after all.

Crowley, his head on Aziraphale’s ribs and an arm thrown over Aziraphale’s waist, grumbled again. “Wasso funny?” 

“To tell you the truth, dear, I forgot you were there.” 

The demon rolled off his chest and wiggled his way up to the pillow beside his angel. Aziraphale shifted to lie on his side and meet the yellow-eyed gaze. Their arms pulled each other closer, and Crowley placed a lazy kiss on his lips. 

“Rude of you to forget me so soon,” he murmured, smirking. 

Aziraphale kissed him again. “Good morning to you too, my love.” 

——

They walked through the cemetery, hand in hand. Aziraphale stopped them when he’d found the spot, put down the flowers he’d brought along. It wasn’t the first time they’d visited the graves of their old friends. It was easier than visiting the few who were still alive, really. Easier than trying to explain why they hadn’t aged a day since they’d first met, but… Hard, in a way they could never quite get used to, even after millennia. 

“Were you there?” Crowley asked. “At Isaac’s funeral?”

Aziraphale nodded. “I stopped going to the meetings, after…” He cleared his throat. “Well. You know. But I kept in touch.”

He didn’t even need to ask; he knew Crowley hadn’t gone, hadn’t really stayed in contact with anyone after they’d split up. Aziraphale didn’t like to think about it, how much Crowley had lost then - not just him, but all of their friends, too. He squeezed their joined hands. 

“I had them keep an eye on you, you know,” the angel said, after a pause. 

“Oh you did, did you?” 

“Mm. It was how I found out about your little ‘heist’ in ’67.” 

Crowley nodded. “Big year.” 

“It _was_. The celebrations— oh, you should have seen them, Crowley, they were magnificent.” 

1967, when the UK repealed their laws against homosexuality. It was one of the few times After that Aziraphale had gone back to their club. It had been lovely; the excitement, the relief, the aura of love alone had almost knocked him down, but it had also been a reminder of what he’d never have. The shackles of Heaven and Hell were not so easily shirked.

Or, well. So he’d thought at the time.

He squeezed the hand in his. It squeezed back. Crowley took a deep, steadying breath. “Come on, then,” he said. “We have a lunch booking to get to.” 

——

The thing about sixty-odd years in an immortal lifespan is that it can mean everything and nothing at the same time. The amount that England, the world, had changed since 1958 was everything - their love wasn’t illegal in London anymore, they could love each other in the open, they could get _married._ And yet others who had lived through what they had - the secrecy, the fear, the constant need to hide - some of them were still alive. And the laws may have changed, but they knew the hatred would not fade so quickly.

The thing about the sixty-odd years they’d been apart was that they were a blip and an eternity at once. Their years together after ’41 were short, comparatively, but were the culmination of a love restrained for, really, the entirety of their acquaintance. Having that, finally, and having to let it go, well. Needless to say, the two of them held on tight, this time. 

Crowley’s head rested in Aziraphale’s lap as he read aloud. It was a normal night for the two of them, now, and the angel’s fingers were brushing through red locks when they caught on something around the demon’s neck. He paused; pushed the book to the side; plucked it up between his fingers. 

“Angel?” 

“What’s this?” It was rhetorical; he could see now that it was a chain, and a well looked-after one at that. He traced the chain to where it rested, the weight of whatever was on it sitting near Crowley’s shoulder as he lay. “Can I…?” 

Crowley nodded, a sense of nervousness to it. The chain was pulled out from Crowley’s shirt, revealing— 

A ring. _The_ ring. Still glinting, polished and cared for, warmed from the touch of skin. 

“You kept it,” Aziraphale breathed. 

“Of course I did.” Crowley’s voice was soft, but sure. He could see that this was a Moment, and he didn’t want to break it so soon. 

“I broke it,” the angel said, tracing the circle with his thumb, round and round on his palm. “The first mug, the one you bought me, I broke it.” 

That made Crowley raise an eyebrow. He was certain he’d spotted it sitting around the bookshop at some point, just out of the corner of his eye. He could be wrong, though. He’d never let himself linger on it. 

Aziraphale noticed the expression. “I miracled it back together, of course - I couldn’t have just thrown it away, but—“ he chewed his lip, “But I couldn’t keep using it, either, knowing I’d already ruined it once. It’s upstairs, safe. I bought several that looked the same and I’ve been using those instead. This is… as good as new."

“Metal’s harder to break than ceramic,” he said with a shrug. He shifted onto his back and noticed the tears slipping from the angel’s eyes. His face softened. Crowley sat up and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders. A white-blonde head of hair buried itself in his neck; strong arms wrapped around him and held him tightly. 

The angel sniffled. “I’m sorry.” 

And Crowley wasn’t sure what he was apologising for - the mug, crying, 1958 - but he tightened his hold; said, “Nothing to be sorry about.”

After a moment, he was gently pushed back. Aziraphale traced the chain again, cradling the ring in his palm to get a closer look at it. 

“You know,” he said, breaking their quiet, “we… We could, now. If you would like.”

Crowley closed his hand around Aziraphale’s. Around the ring. “Yeah. We could.” 

——

They didn’t need the marriage license, really, but they got one anyway. A few miracles to ensure their legal documents were in order (and didn’t list their birthdates as sometime in the 1700s; it was hard to remember to keep them updated if they weren’t using them at the time) and they were set. 

They signed the certificate in a small courthouse wedding; much as they wished to show off their love, now that they could, planning anything bigger just seemed an unnecessary hoop to jump, and besides, it’s not like they had family to invite.

They exchanged rings - matching bands; gold and silver swirled together - Crowley’s sitting just above the one he’d been given all those years ago, now fulfilling the role it has always been meant for. An engagement ring. A promise. 

They made short vows, and they cried. They went to dinner; shared a cake. They hung their wedding certificate in the bookshop for anyone to see. 

Aziraphale called a waiter over, a few nights later, and ask for “The dessert menu for my husband and I, if you please,” and it finally hit Crowley that they’d made it. After all this time, no one was stopping them. He and Aziraphale; husbands, for as long as the Earth kept turning, and beyond. 

His angel reached across the table; took his hand. “I was thinking,” he began, “that we should get a cottage together.” 

Crowley’s eyes watered. He grinned. 


End file.
